I Ship Linctavia Too Goddamn Much
by percabethandhg
Summary: The title basically sums it up. I ship Linctavia soooo much, and I wanted so much more of them in the show. Also, I don't like that Lincoln is going to die next season (I'm only in season 2), so I wrote a fanfic where they makeout, and get married, and have babies, cause yay! Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey, it's Alethea! So, I just started watching The 100 (only in season 2, so no spoilers, guys), but there wasn't nearly enough Linctavia. In my story, Lincoln never becomes a Reaper, but other than that, just read the story and find out!**_

 _ **It's basically just Linctavia. Just a lot of Linctavia. You cannot have too much Linctavia. I go through my shows with salt shakers of my OTPs and just go, "I'm gonna put a little here, and a little here, and oh god, this episode doesn't have nearly enough, i'm gonna put an assload there!"**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to favorite, follow, and review!**_

I wait until Bellamy falls asleep (or disappears into his tent with a girl on his arm, but he's not paying attention to me, so same difference) before I pack a small satchel with some food, all things that'll keep in Lincoln's cave, because I've been taking him food since my brother pushed a screw through his hand and he can't currently hunt. It's surprisingly easy to get out of the camp once Bellamy is otherwise occupied since he's the one who's constantly peering over my shoulder, always trying to protect me.

When I was younger, I loved that, cause Mom never paid as much attention to me as I always wished, and of course I've never met my father, but Bell was always there. Always reading to me, smuggling me food from the dining hall, tucking me into the bed we shared.

But now I want to see Lincoln, and with Bellamy always hovering in that annoying parent way, it's very hard to sneak anyway, especially to see my forbidden Grounder boyfriend. I've already been to see him twice already, and he taught me to fish, and tell what plants are edible and which ones aren't.

It's not that far through the woods, and Lincoln's started leaving me trails of flowers, white lilies because those were my mother's favorite flowers. Apparently, my father gave her one when they first met, after he'd smuggled it out of the greenhouses. Technically, the flowers we grow are only for funerals, to honor the dead, but they're still beautiful. So since they were Mom's favorite flower, she gifted it to me as one of the only things she ever gave me, a middle name.

I told Lincoln that, and he really warmed to the idea, picking possibly hundreds of the beautiful white flowers.

"You're early," Lincoln says quietly as I slip into his cave.

"Oh, come on! I was so quiet, how did you hear that?" I whine, continuing towards him. "And I know I'm early. Bellamy and his girl of the night, Marissa, retired early tonight."

Lincoln and I haven't 'retired'. We've kissed, but that's it because, though I'm definitely curious and _almost_ ready to sleep with him, I'm not quite there. He hasn't brought it up, though, so that's a relief.

I'm still getting used to kissing; touching my lips to someone else's then pulling away to taste real Earth air. I'm still getting used to being free. I went from under a floorboard inside a metal box that I wasn't allowed to leave to a bottom bunk inside a metal box that I wasn't allowed to leave. I spent fifteen years going to sleep staring at a metal ceiling (when my mother was home, however rarely, I had to sleep in the floor so that if there was an emergency and someone burst in without knocking, I wouldn't be found), and then another full year of going to sleep staring at a metal bedframe.

But now I sleep under the stars. Everyone else is in their tents, but I'm on a blanket watching the ark glow in the dark sky.

Now, I'm looking at the glow of the fire in Lincoln's cave.

He hugs me, pressing his lips to mine gently. Lincoln's not a very vocal guy, so mostly I chatter and he offers helpful insight, but he seems to crave physical contact, so we have that instead of lengthy conversations. I love that Lincoln listens, cause growing up, I only had two people to listen to me, and only one of them was actually listening, but now Lincoln is, and it's so comforting.

"I wanted to show you something," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. I let him take my hand silently and guide me to the fur in front of the fire. He sits down, his back to the wall, and I make myself comfortable in his lap. He gets his notebook, the one with all the pictures he draws, and puts it in my lap. He flips through till he gets to a beautiful portrait of three people. "That's my family."

"Oh!" I observe them. It's a mother and a father and a little boy of about ten, labelled with their names. "The little one's you?"

He nods. "That's my mother, Ezmia, and my father, George. The Everards."

"That's your last name?" I say, to ask the obvious yet again. "I guess I never really imagined you having a last name. Lincoln Everard. It sounds nice."

"So does Octavia Lily Blake." He flips to the next page. "And this is your family."

It's me, in the clothes I was wearing when I landed, every individual strand of my hair done in a feathery stroke, flowing down my shoulders. Bellamy is next to me, grumpy as ever, but a small smile threatening to emerge. Behind us, her hands on both our shoulders, is my mother. Lincoln's drawn her to be me, just older, her lips a little thinner, her eyes a little dulled, her hair, which is the same black as mine, pinned up on her head.

"Thank you," I gasp, moving my head from the crevasse between Lincoln's head and his shoulders to meet his eyes. "It's beautiful. And how'd you get us all so right?"

"I observed." He's quiet again before he closes the notebook. We just sit in the quiet for several seconds before he kisses my cheek softly. "It's easy to observe you because I never get sick of looking at you."

"Ah, a poet as well as an artist," I reply, blushing. Then it's silence again. Neither of us are very talkative today. "Lincoln?"

"Yes, Octavia?" He told me last time that he loves saying my name, and I love when he says it.

"I love you," I tell him. I've never loved anyone before, not like this. Not Atom, not Jasper, not Avery, and that's all the boys I've ever kissed. But Lincoln…I love Lincoln. He makes me feel happy, safe, but free at the same time.

He's quiet, contemplating that for a second before he replies, "I love you, too, Octavia kom shaikru."

I smile, repeating it, "Octavia kom shaikru. I like that."

"And I like you." He rubs the bare skin between my jeans and my black t-shirt. I can feel the swirl of his fingerprint as his fingers move up my stomach gently. "Octavia?"

He's asking if this is ok. And it is. "Mhm."

I turn and kiss him before taking the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head.

I'm Octavia kom shaikru, and I'm free to do whatever the hell I want.

 ** _-I'm still learning the characters, but let me know what you think, or any developments you want to see. Favorite, follow, and review!_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**I'm a little nervous writing this cause it's my first M-rated, but I had a consultant (thanks, Jack), so I feel a little better about this chapter. Let me know what you think and don't forget to favorite, follow, and review!**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

Two nights later, when Bellamy is once again occupied and I can get away again, I find Lincoln waiting for me just outside the gate.

"What are you doing here? You could've been seen, and nobody knows about you yet," I admonish, wrapping my arms around his neck before kissing him. "I'm serious, Lincoln, it's dangerous."

"Just surviving on the ground is dangerous," he reminds me in response. "I thought I'd come meet you. A tree fell down on the way to my cave, and I didn't want you to have to cross it."

I glare at him, pulling away. "I'm not some fragile little girl that you have to protect, Lincoln. I was in prison, you know."

He smiles, kissing me again before taking my hand and dragging me away from the prying eyes and flashing lights of the Dropship. "I know that you're a warrior-"

"Damn right I am," I interrupt, stepping over a log on the ground. I'm tempted to point that out to Lincoln, the fact that I can step of fallen branches on the ground, but I resist. "But continue."

"-and I want to help you be a warrior," he finishes.

"Oooh, like X-Men training?" I inquire, but dismiss it when he seems confused. They must not have movies on the ground, why did that not occur to me? I didn't even see movies on the Ark (because I couldn't be seen at the occasional movie nights), but Bellamy would tell me all about them when he'd get home. "Never mind. But you training me in the art of fighting…sounds sexy."

He gives what I assume is the Lincoln version of a smirk. "It could be."

And that's all we say about that.

We get back to his cave (I love saying that. It sounds so mysterious!), where I settle down in front of the fire. Lincoln gets a little jar with a lid from a crevasse in the wall.

"What's that for?" I ask, my legs crisscrossed.

"To be a warrior, you have to look like a warrior," he tells me, kneeling in front of me and opening it. There's a pool of black paint inside, which he dips his fingers into.

"So you're putting face paint on me?" I ask as he smears the cold pigment across my cheekbones. "I never pictured you as a makeup artist."

He kisses me, effectively shutting me up. "It's customary not to talk."

"When am I ever customary?" I ask as his fingers go over the lines again.

He trails his fingers down my neck and I get goosebumps. Before he continues down my torso, he commands, "Take off your shirt."

I grin. "Are you just trying to get me naked, Lincoln?"

He leans toward me, close enough that I can almost taste his breath as he speaks. "Maybe."

"Ha! I got you to admit it," I cheer triumphantly. I take my shirt off, then my bra, baring myself to my boyfriend. Then I (attempt to) bite my lip seductively. "Happy now?"

"Very." He leans in to kiss me, then backs away to continue marking my body with the thick black lines. "Warriors are marked all over."

"I know." I blush as I remember the marks on his abdomen that I admired the first time we had a real conversation. I'm not a girl who's well-versed in attractive abs, but I'm sure that even by an expert's standards, Lincoln measures up.

His fingers are gliding down my skin, drawing swirls down my breasts, encircling my nipples. I expect him to stay there, but he continues down, making increasingly thickening lines down my stomach. Then he pauses, kissing me again.

"Now I look like a warrior," I whisper, pulling him toward me, suddenly breathless. I kiss along his neck and shoulders, and he arches into my warm breath.

"Not quite." He pushes me down onto my back and I start to object before he kisses me again. He undoes the buckle before he eases my pants off my hips and down my legs.

Ok, never mind the fact that I haven't shaved since I got to the ground (yeah, the list helpful things that they neglected to put in the dropship include razors and shaving cream. Also, eyeliner, which Marissa laments daily.), there's a more pressing problem at hand.

No, quite literally. Part of the problem has made itself apparent and is pressing into my thigh.

"Lincoln, I don't know if we're ready for this. If I'M ready for this, Lincoln, ok?" I stutter. I try so hard to be badass (and I am, just naturally), but even though I can start an argument with anyone, survive in a prison full of dangerous criminals (because my only crime was being born), and survive on the ground, I'm still a virgin. There's not much chance to have sex when you're living under a floorboard, and in Ark jail, they discourage the teenage prisoners from fucking each other. "Lincoln, I can't do this, not right now."

"I know," he says quietly as I bite my lip, this time nervously. For a second, he admires me in my underwear-only state before dipping his fingers into the jar of paint again.

He presses his fingertips to my ankle, creating a line of circular dots up my leg. I shiver, but relax, even as he approaches my underwear line. He does the other leg, and after a few minutes, I'm painted all over in a series of lines, dots, and swirls. For war paint, it's pretty beautiful.

"So, what do we do now that I look like a warrior?" I ask as Lincoln bends over me, his hands on the ground beside my hips so that he keeps his balance. We kiss, and his weight shifts onto me a bit as he uses one hand to slip my panties down my legs. I break out of the kiss reluctantly. "Lincoln…"

"I know, Octavia," he responds gently, trailing his fingers across the curve of my hips before dropping them lower and pushing them into me.

I gasp and a small smile plays with his lips as he kisses me again. After I've guided Lincoln's fingers exactly where I want them, I let my hand slip around his waist and then into the band of his pants. After a few minutes, we collapse next to each other, both still breathing heavily.

"You really are a warrior, aren't you?" He asks softly and I laugh, laying my head on his now-bare chest.

"Damn right I am, Grounder."

 _ **-What'd you think? Review, review, review! Just like I said on my Destiel story (which you should totally go check out), you don't even have to put words together into a sentence. Just leave a measly little smiley face like this, ok? :) It'll make me smile, too!**_


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